


Ocean Of Storms

by vanishing_time



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Consolation, Does this count as a threesome, Dreams vs. Reality, Episode Related, First Time, Lucas is a consolation prize, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_time/pseuds/vanishing_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His friend has left, but a substitute can be found for everyone. At least that's what he longs to believe.<br/>Set at the end of Adverse Events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ocean Of Storms

**Author's Note:**

> There's a depressing shortage of _Hucas_ fics out there despite the endless possibilities. :(  
>  This fic was sort of a writing practice to experiment with different stylistics. (The result is 7 pages of porn, yay--)

He dreams he’s standing on an ocean shore.

 

Grey-pink sky gapes above him, sound of seagulls penetrates the lukewarm air.

In the corners of his vision he catches the Venus, twinkling above the horizon among flatly-stretched clouds, clouds appearing like they were floating around the flaming orb of the setting sun. The low sound of the horn of a receding ship echoes faintly in the distance, its sharp, dark silhouette leisurely melts into the water.

The breeze smells of salt and seaweed, algae and shells as it’s tearing into his lungs. The air is clean and sticky on his skin, it stings his eyes, yanks at his shirt, and he inhales deeply. Cool sand is flowing between his toes, yet the water is colder as it’s licking softly at his feet with each small drift of a wave.

He’s looking at Wilson’s face. Wilson’s, who is smiling at him, the wind entangling his dark hair even as he's reaching up to swipe it out from his temple with long, elegant fingers. He’s dressed in white, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, barefoot on the wet mounds of sand, orange twilight highlighting his profile, his cheeks, his ears.

He can’t take his eyes off of him, and his heart is clenching at the sight of his smile. Insignificance and awe envelop him, and hesitantly, like he was standing in front of an ethereal creature, he raises his hand to Wilson’s cheek, and when they touch, the skin feels angelic. The tender fluffs of the cheekbones are tickling his fingertips, the dimples and peaks of the broadening smile curl into his palm.

The light of the dying sun falters when reaching the brown irises, floundering into nothingness. The pupils are devouring yesterday.

He strokes Wilson’s face absentmindedly, drinking in the sight of him, trying to bury this moment in his memory forever, wanting to say something but the words fail him.

Wilson is looking back at him for what seems like eternity, without uttering a word because they don't need them, then finally, finally moves even closer, so he can feel the warmth radiating from his body, he can feel Wilson’s hands wandering to his shoulders to caress lovingly. The breath is salty and warm on his chin as it mingles with the cool wind, and Wilson whispers something, so silently he just reads the words from his lips; but then Wilson is kissing him, eyelids closing, mouth soft and tasting of ocean air, delicate grains of sand are chafing the tiny grooves of his lips, fingernails are playing with the hair on his nape. He faintly knows he’s dreaming, just not aware of the levels of depth, but he can push aside the thought; and then there’s the touch of Wilson’s hand on his own, and as Wilson’s mouth opens and their tongues meet he feels heat, he feels as if the sun was exploding around them, scorching his body, burning his flesh down to the bones.

And Wilson gently pulls him down onto the shore with himself, and he’s lying on top of him; they are joining in another kiss, sweet and soft and salty, and Wilson’s body underneath is pliant and warm and solid and tender, his caresses leave him starving. The breeze is getting cooler as he’s undoing the remaining buttons of Wilson’s shirt, fondling the uncovered body, the ridges of stomach and ribcage, watching as Wilson closes his eyes and arches, sand flowing and dust flying among his breadths of hair, and he breathes on the exposed skin to make it warm, exhales on small curls of hair and tiny humps of goosebumps, and a pink nipple is hardening under his teasing tongue, fingers of a hand twist themselves gently in his scalp, and the sky is becoming darker and angry-grey clouds are towering above them, and Wilson is sighing deeply as he’s flicking his tongue over buds and planes, elegant bows of collarbones, a hollow and an apple of a throat. The wind is loud and the palm trees are bending and buzzing with Wilson's moans and writhing, and hips are grinding into his groin, the bones are hard and the squeeze on the base of twined fingers is almost painful, and there’s the creaking of sand and the taste of a soft, dimpled cheek under his teeth, slowly building delight in his loins as he’s claiming a salty-red, pointed upper lip and a warm-wet tongue. Smell of infinite water and seaweed and skin and deodorant, sticky damp vapour and warm scent of flesh is filling his lungs as Wilson’s passionate little cries are mingling with his. Wilson’s arms are tight around him, and the small, rhythmical, synchronized undulates of their bodies are mimicking the symphony of the storm about to arrive, and sand is flowing between his fingers and sticking under his fingernails, his arm is tensing, his back is stretching, his hips are thrusting, his mouth is moving against eyelids and nose and brows to form low, murmuring endearments while sharp lightnings zigzag above him, breaths becoming harsher, more desperate, building pressure, condensing electricity, and with the first roar of a thunderclap Wilson cries out, his fevered, pleasure-filled voice faltered by the sound of the waves breaking on rocks and pebbles, and he’s devouring that voice and the sight of straining body and beautiful face, gasping in his own red-hot desire as the rain begins to pour onto his shoulder and disappear as tiny dots in the ground, infiltrating into Wilson’s silky hair, and through the riptide of rapture, the intense brown gaze burns into the blue.

 

He wakes up with a start.

Eyes still closed, on the inside of his eyelids the haze, in his nose the smell of the ocean begin to fade, yet the vision and the sight are lingering, chafed want under the ribs to hold onto them forever and let them go, never to remember them again. Feelings, suppressed for way too long, now stir within him, from time to time threatening to spill in sudden betraying thoughts and dreams, and each time he wants them to go away. They are so meaningless and senseless.

He wants them away. Even though nothing else is left.

And his prayers are heard, though not by a God.

Hands are gliding on his skin, on his hipbones, the inner side of his thigh, a warm stomach pressed tightly to him from behind, softly heaving chest against his back, a strong body, sweating, gently rocking, spooning. He lets himself being slowly lured out of that dream; too raw, too fresh bitter pain lingering in the depth of his throat, swallowing it back, throat opening again as an unexpected, strangled groan of delight evaporates from his mouth. Dampness of warm breath envelop his ear, sucking, scraping with teeth, sudden but not abrupt waves of lust pulsate, throb through his body, pleasant-pleasing voice, mingled with murmuring moans on his earlobe, fevered begging, pleading commanding, his name, his first name sublimating from those lips, jolts bolting up and down his spine in the wake of it, but it’s so wrong, a momentarily lingering thought that he shouldn't be hearing his name in such way, but a stiff groin grinds against the base of his spine, scorching flickering licks bathe the underline of his jaw, and it's right, all is right, he doesn't see, he just feels, and oh yes, oh there...

 _Please,_ buzzing murmuring blending into the white noise of the night, _please, let me, please,_ so low it barely crosses the distance between lips and earlobe, hands and body already taking what the lips are begging for. Fingers, way too talented, envelop his awoken hardness, sharpness of a fingernail gently drawing a line along a pulsating vein, index and middle finger pressing around the base, combing through hair, careful cupping, teasing massage of a warm palm, sudden electricity breaking across his spine to cut through this lungs in the form of a wail, and his back arches, hand moves on its own to reach behind him, behind them, behind that other person to grab firm, too firm and too taut buttocks, kneading, pulling, dragging the body against himself, bucking back into it, wanting to merge together. Unfamiliar cologne, familiar shower gel, already-not-unknown sweat-scent radiating from the other, not what he longs to smell, but it could melt into the one in his memory if he tried hard enough, replacing, swirling, beginning to mingle.

 _Yes,_ his tongue and palate unleashing the words on their own as if his body knew better what he needed now, _God yes,_ nails digging into flesh, tight clasp, wet strokes of a tongue behind his ear, already slick, blunt hardness sliding slowly, steadily between his buttocks, in his cleft, fitting neatly, perfectly, teasing, soft silkyness stroking sensitive skin, rubbing gently until he's starving so much he just wants to beg for more. _Please, yes, do it,_ his gasp devoured by the half darkness of the room.

But he's being denied for now, and it’s nearly painful yet still so perfect. Hands clap his pectorals, fingertips prowl, tugging, pinching, clawing nipples into protruding points, threading through a spray of chest hair, palming across planes and hollows, the firmness of an arm digging painfully into his side in a feral, reflexive, animalistic embrace, tightly claiming, pressing chest and back and ass and groin, mark of a bite washed away by the lapping on his nape, pulling, scratching teeth in the fine hair, half-loud, intimate panting on his sweating skin, and he leans, pushes backwards into a crotch, spine arching, the teeth in his flesh almost breaking skin, and he turns his head to kiss, and for a moment it doesn't matter that it's not _him_ who's doing this to him, not _his_ heat enfolding him, that it’s...

 _Lucas…_ he groans onto a mouth, into a moist kiss, but suddenly there's a pair of fingers pressing between their lips, both of them licking together for a little while before they are slid into him and he sucks on them eagerly, soaking them, mimicking what he longs to do and it makes him ache, makes him even harder though he was already like rock when he awoke, throbbing at the thought that he could do this to the other man, he could suck his cock if he wanted, mouth watering as he plays with the idea of doing this, replaying scenarios in his head and getting high on it.

 

\---- Oh yes, but he did it last evening, not carefully nor heedfully as the first times usually go, but wildly and carelessly and instinctively, it was so fucking dirty, the memory makes him shiver. "I barely know you," the guy said with a waggish, wicked smile crooking his lips. He didn't know what occurred to him as he answered after a while, when the last accords of the song had died, "want to know me better?" and he smirked. But then there was silence, and he curiously glanced up at Lucas who looked back at him for a long moment before suddenly chuckling, "if that’s how you call it…" And he realized that they had been flirting and now they passed the point of no return, crossed a line that could be uncrossed if they wanted, but nothing would be the same. And why should they step back? "Aren’t you into Cuddy?", he asked, hoping he didn’t have to speak much more than that. "Aren’t _you?_ " was the answer, accompanied by a grin, and he put down his guitar because it wasn’t interesting anymore, and Lucas' long fingers slowly slipped off the keyboard of the piano as he looked at him, not saying a word but mischievous light sparkling in his translucent blue eyes.

House didn't think much, then didn’t think at all as the man got off the seat to bend down to him and put his hands on his knees, and there was only a glimpse of a half-smirk and a shred of the scent of a cologne and musk and a few milliseconds of warm, humid breath on his skin before Lucas closed his eyes and took his mouth in a kiss; he was not gentle at all, but eager and hungry and lustful and desperate, he claimed him, marked him, soaked him so violently his mouth became bruised, pulled on his lips with teeth, tongue lapped at his insides, he tasted delicious and strange and House felt hands in his hair, and Lucas was moaning wantonly through their kiss as their arms sneaked around each other, and that was it, no teasing, no foreplay, just mutual, basic, carnal want hovering in the air surrounding them.

He vaguely remembers that he was undressed as he kept clawing at the man’s neck, and he thought of nothing but how perfect and screwed up and natural and obvious this was as Lucas was plunging his tongue in and out, already fucking his mouth without gentleness, and stubble not his own burned his face as he listened to the ripping of his shirt and the soft clicking noise of his buttons on the floor, and he grabbed that man, so young, so unrestrained, his vigor filled him the same way his spry little tongue filled his mouth, and he tangled his own tongue around it. The flap of fresh masculine smell and the almost-forgotten feel of skin, surprisingly silky skin under his palm under the t-shirt made him lose control, and suddenly he realised he was lying half-naked on top of a powerful, athletic, flexible body on the floor and the boards were chafing his hands and Lucas was thrashing upwards against him, pulling, grabbing his waist, gripping his buttocks, his legs encircling him, dry-humping like a horny teenager while not letting the kiss break for a second, and he saw their mixed saliva flowing down in the corner of Lucas' lips and felt their cocks grind alongside of each other‘s through rough fabric of jeans, and he was hard, so hard he couldn't recall the last time he felt nearly this aroused; and then Lucas groaned, a deep, guttural, barbaric sound penetrating House’s ears and making him ache when he fastened his lips over that stubbled throat and licked it and twisted his hand in Lucas' hair and tucked his t-shirt up to his armpits, the material tearing, creaking, but he didn't let the other go for a second either.

And there was a sudden pressing of bare hot heaving chests and "oh fuck" was all he could manage to gasp out as Lucas boldly grabbed and rubbed and stroked his straining hardness through his jeans; he'd wanted to make it last but that was when the red fog of his lust became so thick that he could barely see through it, and he was groping blindly at the button and the zipper of the younger man’s fly while licking long wet lines on his chest and sucking and biting his nipples, relishing the moans, and he felt his leg burn when he kneeled up on the floor, pulling Lucas' jeans down to his thighs and he heard a hiss as he almost tore off that cock along with the pants in his fever, and he chuckled "sorry"; but then he wasn't speaking anymore as he wetted his lips and snatched those hipbones and leaned down to lap at taut, heavy testicles before loosening his throat and swallowing the tempting erection whole, and Lucas cried out, voice dark and hoarse, and the unusualness of that sound and the situation was like pouring napalm on his already flaming flesh. He fumbled with the zipper of his own pants and put his hand on his own cock as he sucked Lucas off with all the enthusiasm and arousal he had, inhaling the dizzying musk of his groin, tasting his skin and eagerly lapping up thick, distasteful, delicious beads of fluid, sliding his slick, tightened lips up and down the hard flesh, letting it fill him, swirled his tongue around the head and pushed the tip of it into the moist slit as Lucas was thrashing and cursing and calling out his name, clutching his shoulders and roaming his hands on his arms and back, groaning "ah yes" and "fuck, oh fuck" and later "fuck, stop, I'll come, stop," and House also thought that they should slow down and released him.

Then Lucas was kicking down his trousers and pressing House onto his back and pulling House’s jeans past his hips, just enough to bare his cock, and he kissed House again before straddling his thighs, looking into his eyes, his irises swallowed by huge pupils, a flash of flush on his cheeks as he grabbed and stroked him clumsily while he licked and sucked the fingers of his other hand, and then he reached under himself, between his own legs to push them in, all the way into his own ass; and House felt a guttural growl ripping from his chest at the sight, "fucking God," he gasped as his whole body twitched, and Lucas was moaning and screwed his eyes shut perhaps in rapture or perhaps in pain, and House couldn’t decide whether to watch his face or watch his leaking erection or watch his disappearing fingers, and he heard his own uncontrollable swearing and panting as Lucas leaned down, "wanna fuck me?", he asked huskily before his mouth enveloped House's cock, and all of a sudden he was sliding in and out of a warm tight slick rippling throat, and he wanted to yell _yes yes yes_ as the man was eagerly blowing him while still fingering himself, tormenting him for what seemed like hours by sucking hard then releasing and just licking lightly, and when he finally pulled away House saw a string of saliva expanding and tearing between his glistening glans and those full red lips.

And Lucas spat into his palm and reached once again between his legs, and all House was capable of is to grip the base of his own cock to hold it in place as Lucas crouched over him and steadied himself with a hand clutching the piano, squirming into position and descending onto him like he was performing in some filthy porn movie; and then the head of House's cock was breaching, stretching, filling the other man and it was way too hot, too fantastic to bear, he gasped through the flames of his pleasure and his fingers tried to dig into the floor and he felt some of his fingernails break but it was all right, it kept him at the edge; and Lucas was rutting and grunting and writhing like an animal in heat, his face was twisting as he sank onto him slowly but brutally, impaling himself to the hilt but he already was rising up and pushing down again, and suddenly they were fucking with just a thin layer of spit separating them, and Lucas was riding him hard, mouth opened in a silent roar as he threw his head back, his throat tensed and a fine film of sweat was glistening above his brows and his t-shirt was still tucked up to his neck and he ripped it off belatedly, fully exposing his toned chest and his rippling abdomen, his straining cock jutted up to his belly.

"Look at this, look at us," he whispered as his thighs were tensing, stretching, spreading so House could see their bodies part and merge, and he had to bite his lips in an agonized effort not to come, Lucas was so unfamiliar and attractive, untamed, strong and vital and energetic and hot, so fucking hot, so goddamn handsome as he was looking down at him and smiling dazedly through the fog of lust and exertion; but he couldn't admire him for long because Lucas grabbed his own cock and groaned and violently began tugging at himself as his movements became exalted, slamming down forcefully onto him and he was shouting "shit, ah shit, fuck me, oh yes, fuck me," and House licked his palm and pulled Lucas’ hand away to jerk him off while thrusting and pounding and ramming upwards; and Lucas held onto the piano with a tensing arm and whitening knuckles and his hips were moving frantically in his lap. And House watched that scorching, wonderful ass swallow his cock over and over again, he struggled for breath as heat began to spread in his loins, and Lucas was groaning like crazy, "fuck, gonna come, I’m gonna come," and House was urging him on with filthy, obscene, incoherent words and stroked him harder, faster with both of his hands now, thumb playing with the swollen, flushed, slick head, until Lucas gasped and cried out and he was coming and clenching tightly around him, and House was wheezing and moaning in both of their ecstasy as Lucas spilled his semen over his hands and it splashed onto his chest; and the floor hit House’s head as his spine arched and his hips rose once, twice, lifting the other man up in the air as he spurted deep inside him, and it was relief and rapture and distraction and bittersweet oblivion, and Lucas was trembling and grabbing his arms as they were releasing in unison ----

 

But now he’s here, fingers tracing his lips, pushing in his mouth, sliding over his tongue, nails hard and sharp. Flash of a pair of blue-grey-dark eyes, stubble-framed thick lips before his eyelids flutter close again, and the fingers withdraw, leaving his lips apart and his tongue is already moistening them before the other kisses him properly with warm, sticky mouth, and oh, it’s divine, heavenly, exotic, and he groans into the kiss as slick bluntness circles around his entrance, but the other swallows his gasps, and there's pushing, opening, unfolding, he wants it so much, and he's floating on an imagined image of a pair of brown eyes and thick eyebrows and pointed cherry lips but then there’s a thunderbolt of sharp-white pleasure and rubbing of a finger on the ring of muscles, and the fantasy disappears and only the feel of sparkling strokes on his insides and his own wail against the other’s lips remain. Head turned back even more, a nape grabbed, pulled closer and a tongue plunging into him, lapping, tasting, spit mingling in another dirty, disgusting, beautiful, sloppy kiss. _Greg, oh Greg,_ he hears his choked name, puffed breaths on his own saliva-soaked chin and it’s perfect, oh so perfect, the taste of the other man, the scent of his face, their stubble scratching and brushing, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other, the finger within him, circular massaging, hard-hot cock pressed to his tailbone, film of perspiration of a chest on his shoulder blades, legs pressed between his, shoving them apart, all too arousing, and another finger is being pushed into him and pumped and scissored and he grunts...

Finds himself on his back now with Lucas straddling his chest, and he opens his mouth as Lucas pushes in, his cock slick and hard and torrid and tasting of precum and musk, and House grabs those buttocks and pulls him deeper in. Lucas groans as he thrusts, gently, slowly fucking his mouth, gripping the headboard and encouraging him, _yes, suck it, yes, ah yes,_ and he’s trembling violently at the thought of what’s about to come as he swirls his tongue before he releases that cock, grabbing the base of it, examining it, licking at the veins and the swollen glans while seductively looking up at the man like a whore, and Lucas is looking at him, _fuck, you're so fucking hot,_ he whispers, lips parted, eyes have become once again black with lust, breathing shallow with arousal...

Turns onto his stomach, spreading to the teasing strokes and the sweetness of a probing tongue against his opening before Lucas is lying onto him, presses against him, heavy and hard, legs being parted by the gentle jostle of a knee, the panting is becoming insane in his ears. A kiss on his shoulder, a forehead pressed against his back, a blunt hardness is nudging at his entrance; and there’s pushing, sharpness of pain as the head of a cock is sliding in, he feels himself being tight and scorching as he's unfolding and loosening, and oh fuck it’s so rough and raw and too goddamn good, he feels his own groans resonate through his stomach in small sparkles of enjoyment, and Lucas is whispering soothingly on his skin but his voice breaks with rapture.

Wanting to grab a hand and suddenly _he’s_ on his mind now, coming forth once again from the darkness of the back of his mind palace where he has been lurking, uninvited, unwanted but irresistible, and he wants to take the hand of that ghost

and Lucas is wonderful but the need for _him_ to be buried inside him is too strong, _and oh, yes, he’s there with him, in his fevered imagination, in his mind, his body enfolding him as he plants moist kisses on his neck and whispers endearments in his ear, I missed you so much_

and Lucas is reaching for his hand as if he could read his thoughts, twining their fingers, and a strangely soothing rhythm he’s set up, and House feels him sliding within him, so huge, strong, tight-hot pressure on his muscles, he’s being filled and cleansed and redeemed by Lucas’ desire, his lustful, endearing moans

_and the body lying on top of him is taller and softer, the weight is heavier, the rhythm is slow and careful, pushing him deep into the mattress, filling him tantalizingly slowly, and a long-fingered, elegant, precise surgeon’s hand is caressing his hips, a clean-shaven cheek is pressing against his, red lips wrap around one of his knuckles on their twined hands_

but Lucas is more demanding and eager and the fever of the youth is so arousing as the fantasy melts into reality, back and forth, and Lucas is pumping into him, rolling his hips, deep and hard, and it _burns_

_and the voice is tender_

so tender

_House_

Greg, Greg

the words swirl and merge together with the voices in his mind

_Wilson’s lips_

Lucas’ lips panting in his ear, vapour in the air between them and

_Wilson’s voice_

the tip of a tongue plunging into his ear, a stroking hand on his waist, his hips arched to draw the other further into him

_voice dark like the storm about to come_

making him shiver to his bones and Lucas whispers raggedly

_forming words_

oh it’s good, you feel so good

_you feel fantastic_

and Lucas is licking his neck and panting in his ear, and the snaps of his hips against his ass are becoming more forceful, and the burning in his loins and in his ass is getting way too much to bear, he turns his head and licks his wheeze-dried lips in an invitation to be kissed

_breathless whisper, kiss me, House, kiss me_

and there's a kiss so dirty, heated breath on his lips

_and Wilson's mouth is eager and demanding, his kiss is violent and sloppy, taking everything he can give and even more_

and the pounding and the creaking of the bed is dizzying and the movements are frantic and wild, not like he imagined it but ah so good, and he hears himself cursing, begging, fuck me deeper, God yes, fuck me, give it to me

_feasting on each other's pleasure and Wilson is buried deep within him, heavy body and desperate tempo, a thick and hard cock burning his insides, and he wants to burn for him forever, he wants to be smoldered in his love_

and Lucas grabs his hips and pulls him against his lap, and he pushes back, taking him in, drowning in his growls, imagining the face of his friend in rapture as both of them

\-- _all_ three _of_ them--

are dragged closer

_and Wilson’s hand is in his hand, he's hard and relentless and eager between his spread thighs, his stomach presses to his back, and House tilts his hips to take him in further_

loud, obscene slapping of sweat-soaked bodies

_Wilson's sweat, mixed with his own, trickling down his sides, his strangled, damp gasping against his skin, oh I’ve wanted this, his moans, I've wanted this for so long_

crying out at the sudden pressure on the bundle of nerves inside, he hears himself moaning and grunting from the pit of his stomach

_I want you, Wilson's whisper, his bites on his shoulder_

Lucas is pushing in to the hilt with angled thrusts, hand curls into a brutal grasp on the base of the fingers, and he screws his eyes shut and bites into the sheets, it's so fucking hot and tight, it's maddening

_oh God, oh House_

ah, Greg, his name resonating in the air

_Wilson is reaching under him to touch him, his hand knowing exactly what he needs, squeezing, stroking, driving him crazy, and his body is rising and spreading and opening for him, and he wants to give him everything of himself_

he pushes back and his hips are lifting and finally there's a hand on his hot, leaking, throbbing cock, and he yells with the pleasure that fuels him from both sides now, hands in a death grip on the sheets

_every bit of himself and Wilson is uttering words, words that mean_

I want you, ah God, it’s so good, come for me

_come, House, please, come with me_

his own groan tearing from his chest at the other’s sounds he makes

_mean everything_

he feels his mounting ecstasy and white-hot heat spreading in his loins, burning him up from the inside

_voice of an enigmatic being_

and it takes him high, high into the air, a name is passing his lips, not sure which name but he’s lost for now as his whole body is shaking with pleasure, the other's enraptured groans are faint and distant in his brain and his insides are being flooded with warm, thick, hot release

_I’ll return to you_

 

and he’s afraid that this is a lie

 

As they're lying panting on their sides, almost nestled against each other, he stares at Lucas, who is reaching out for him to stroke his face, smiling dazedly with sleepiness and post-coital haze that could be mistaken for affection under different circumstances. Soft kisses are planted onto the bend of his neck, gentle puffs of breath, and he smiles a little as their fingers twine, listening to Lucas’ evened breathing, studying his face when he tiredly closes his eyes. And he’s also sinking back to sleep, with emptiness in his stomach he'll never confess, floating on the image of a calm, abandoned ocean beach.


End file.
